


All The Small Ones Tell Tall Tales

by DesertLily



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: Boys Being Boys, Brooklyn Newsies - Freeform, Does this technically count as a crack fic?, Hot Shot is a terrible friend, M/M, Mild Injury, Spot's cane, based on art, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22879621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertLily/pseuds/DesertLily
Summary: Spot is not clumsy! Not in the slightest. He goes everywhere with a sense of calmness and respectability. That is, of course, until he doesn’t.
Relationships: Spot Conlon & Hot Shot (Newsies), Spot Conlon/Racetrack Higgins (mentioned)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	All The Small Ones Tell Tall Tales

**Author's Note:**

> The title may or may not be Madness lyrics. 
> 
> Based on this wonderful art: https://orolly.tumblr.com/post/190902418786/orolly-92sies-spot-anyone-actually-why-dont

Spot’s cane was one of his prized possessions. There was no doubt about that. Maybe it was dumb and maybe he didn’t need it, but it always gave him a sense of importance that he was keen to embrace. It gave a sense of higher standing; the King of Brooklyn with his fancy cane who was above everyone else. Even if he saw himself as equal with those around him. Still, it helped build up his reputation. His reputation was the third most important thing to him (with the first being his cane and the second being the Brooklyn newsies themselves). He would do almost anything to preserve it. It secured his position of power. If he lost it, he would go back to being nobody; just another plain newsie on the street. He would lose his position as leader in less than a heartbeat. The power structure of Brooklyn was more fickle than most boroughs. It was larger and more crowded than the rest. It required a strong leader. For now, that leader was Spot Conlon who could almost always be found down by the docks, treasuring his cane and slingshot as if they were gifts from the High Heavens. 

Every action committed by him had to be ‘perfect’. He couldn’t afford to appear weak or cowardly. So he acted with confidence in everything he did - even if that confidence did end up being a load of bull. Spot didn’t make mistakes. He didn’t trip up. He didn’t stutter. He didn’t lose fights unless they came with impossible odds. 

At least, that was the way Spot acted in public. In private, he let himself act human. That humanity thrived in the presence of one Racetrack Higgins - or as Spot prefered to nickname them; 'a nuisance’. Even if that was far from the truth. Race was an inconvenience at most. An inconvenience that Spot knew deep down he shouldn’t hold any feelings that weren’t friendly towards. Yet those private moments...All those stolen kisses...Those were the moments where he felt most himself. They were some of the few moments that defined who Spot was. Those, and the ones when he was amongst friends. The moments where he laughed and truly meant it. The moments when he smiled and it was nothing but genuine. That was when Spot was really a person. In those moments, Spot found himself without his cane. He did not need its reputation or the comfort it brought. 

In public, those private moments never mattered. He stood (though not very high) with his face interchanging between being stoic or contorted with a bemused smile. He wasn’t like other leaders. He wasn’t like Jack Kelly. He couldn’t just joke around or be so expressive in public. Spot always had to put others before him. He always had to put their interests first; irregardless of his own feelings. Just as he did with the Strike. His first instinct had been an eagerness to join. His second instinct had been protecting Brooklyn. That secondary instinct won out - just as it always did.

But that wasn’t to say Spot didn’t have his moments of pure idiocy. Everyone did. Just his he tried to keep more private. Unfortunately, his friends seemed to delight in seeing them. In fact, they seemed to enjoy it more than anything. Not that he was surprised. Most of them didn’t exactly have the most exciting sources of entertainment. It only meant he got to enjoy their own failures in return. Embarrassment for embarrassment. A fair trade off. 

Unfortunately, this was one of those few occasions in which Spot found himself flooded with embarrassment. Even more unfortunate was the fact Hot Shot was very much around to see it. The thing about Hot Shot was the fact he was the closest thing Spot had to a best friend. That was how he had found himself making him his unofficial second-in-command. He was the person Spot trusted most after Race. But Race was Manhattan and already Jack Kelly’s second, thus leaving the position of Spot’s second very much up for Hot Shot’s taking. One of the downsides to having a second-in-command was that he saw Spot more frequently than most people. That also meant he got to see more of his brief moments of stupidity. 

It was supposed to be the end of a regular day. Like always, Spot found himself lounging around the docks once he was done selling for the day. At this point, they seemed to serve as his unofficial office space. If anyone wanted to talk business, they would come and find him there. That was how Spot Conlon conducted business. People always came to him. He never went to them. One such occasion was Hot Shot giving his weakly report on any trouble in Brooklyn. It was always good to make sure he knew exactly what was going on in his own borough. “It’s been nothing out of the ordinary. A few scraps - Queenie soaked some kid from the Bronx, but what’s new there? It’s just a normal week. Though, I have seen a certain Manhattan newsie hanging around more than they usually do…” 

Spot narrowed his eyes at that. He had been listening carefully to his friend’s words, resting against his cane as he did. Though, Spot couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the mention of Race. “Oh, shut u-” That was when it happened. He slipped and ended up smacking himself in the face with his own cane. The slight crunch that had followed, along with the stream of blood that began to trickle down his nose was enough to confirm that his cane was just as sturdy as it had always been. Great. Whilst he tried to assess the damage to his face, Hot Shot was laughing harder than Spot had ever seen him laugh before, and wasn’t that just wonderful! “Tell a soul about this and I’ll soak you myself.” He warned. 

“Sure, you will, Spotty.” A smirk broke out on Hot Shot’s face at that. “What you gonna do? Set your big, bad cane on me?” 

“You’re real lucky that I like you.”

Spot Conlon, King of Brooklyn didn’t make mistakes. But maybe just plain Spot did. 

**Author's Note:**

> Seriously check Orolly's art on tumblr!! It genuinely always looks so cool!! This was v fun to write. As always, comments are appreciated or hmu @ desert-lily on tumblr


End file.
